


with a grain of salt

by pneumatics



Series: liquid courage [2]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 12:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11463873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pneumatics/pseuds/pneumatics
Summary: Charles feels like the world’s most terrible friend for nearly forgetting why they were all there in the first place. The look on Erik’s face says the same.





	with a grain of salt

“Fuck him, fucking asshole, fuck,” is what Hank grumbles as he slams the door to Charles’ apartment open. “I hate his sorry fucking ass face,” and, _oh_ , there he goes kicking it shut and most likely denting the wall.

“I’m considering taking away the key I gave you,” Charles remarks from the couch. Hank grumbles and opens the door of the pantry with unnerving force.

“Fuck you too, Charles.”

“No thanks,” Charles puts his book down and turns to face him. “What’s wrong with you anyway?” Hank makes a face.

“There’s nothing wrong with _me_ ,” he scoffs, “but I can’t say the same for _fucking Alex Summers_.”

“What’s wrong with fucking Alex Summers?” Charles asks, even though he’s very aware of what Hank actually meant.

“That was an adjective,” Hank bites out, grabbing a bag of trail mix.

“I know.”

“He’s great in bed,” he spews around a mouthful of granola. “I hate him.”

“Yeah,” Charles says. “Are you trying to destroy my kitchen?”

“I need to channel my aggression into something positive.” Hank tosses the trail mix onto the counter and opens the fridge.

“Eating?” Charles climbs over the couch to observe the damage.

“Food.” Hank grabs the emergency cookie dough from the freezer and weighs it in his hand for a long few seconds. Charles furrows his brow. The emergency cookie dough was for _emergencies_.

“ _My_ food?” There’s a pause, as Hank turns to glare at him. Charles sighs. “I’ll order a pizza.”

“Extra cheese. Don’t forget -”

“The anchovies,” Charles finishes. “You’re a sick bastard.”

“You have no taste,” Hank retorts and resumes clearing out Charles’ food sources.

-

The pizza arrives thirty minutes later, with anchovies on one side and sanity on the other. On it’s heel comes Erik, looking flushed with cold and holding a case of beer. Looking, for all his worth, like a _bad_ idea.

 

(It had been a month, a week, and three days since that night at the bar.)

(Additionally, it had been two weeks since New Year’s.)

(Fourteen days and five hours since his tongue was down Charles’ throat.)

(They didn’t talk about it.)

( _Any of it._ )

 

“Bad idea,” Charles blurts out in greeting. _Very nice. Very smooth. The epitome of flirting._ Erik squints.

“What?” he asks, as if he didn’t hear. Charles takes it.

“Come in,” he says, feeling his ears heat up, “Hank’s a goddamn mess.”

 _Hank’s not the only one_ , says the quirk in Erik’s eyebrow, but he walks through the door nonetheless.

“I bring beer and a great ass,” Erik announces as he kicks off his shoes, not breaking eye contact with Charles. Hank turns from the couch, and raises a fist.

“Charles bought anchovy pizza,” he says. Erik grins.

“Hell yeah,” he nods and walks into the kitchen. “Let’s get turnt.”

Charles rolls his eyes, and follows. “ _Mulan_ or _Hercules_?”

“ _D_ _ude_ ,” Hank whines, “you can’t make us choose.” Erik sighs.

“ _Mulan_ first?” he proposes. “We can get both in.” Hank groans.

“But we have class tomorrow.”

“Yeah, at like, three.” Charles comments, fiddling with the remote. “Come on. Don’t deprive yourself of this glory.” He could feel Erik’s gaze on the back of his neck like a brand. It wasn’t unwelcome.

“This could be the best night of your life,” Erik says. “You look like you used to be into hot animated people in high school.” Charles snorts.

“Shut up,” Hank laughs, throwing his pizza crust at Erik’s face. “I’ll stay.”

“For the pixelated ass?” Erik smirks. Charles switches the movie on with a poorly disguised snicker.

“You’re a pixelated ass,” Hank replies. “I love Li Shang and you do too.”

“Guilty.” Erik grins. 

-

_What is love?_

 

It’s standing on a table with your two best friends, a bottle of beer in hand, singing _I’ll Make A Man Out Of You_ at the top of your lungs.

 

It’s taking pieces of anchovy off your pizza and stuffing them down each other’s shirts.

 

It’s live-acting _Mulan_ in your worst falsetto, and making them laugh.

 

It’s lying on the floor in a tangled mess as the end credits roll, out of breath.

 

_It’s the look in his eyes._

 -

“Okay,” Erik says from somewhere in the pile, “I know we all swing both ways, but this is _so gay_.” He dissolves into giggles which sets Hank and Charles off, and they’re not quite drunk and on the floor and Charles can feel an anchovy pressing against his lower back.

“We need to start the next one,” he says, trying to move. “Erik, get off my legs. I can’t feel them.”

“Oh no, perish the thought,” Erik says deadpan. “We can wait like five more minutes.”

“I need to pee,” Hank says. “You should move. Or else.”

“You disgust me,” Charles groans.

The pile disperses. Charles reaches for another slice of pizza while Erik finishes his beer silently. He hears an obnoxious buzz in the kitchen, and goes to check whose phone it is.

“Hank?” he yells.

“Hold on!” is the response as Hank comes out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his pants. “Did someone die or something?” he asks, before noticing the sound. “Oh, wait.”

“Everything good?” Erik calls out from the couch.

“Yeah,” Hank looks at the caller ID with a frown. “Can you guys give me a sec?” Without waiting for a response, he walks out of the room. Charles hears the front door swing open and close again. The room was silent.

“What’s actually going on with him?” Erik asks. Charles shrugs.

“Alex,” he says, and that’s explanation enough. “I think it’s more than it should be.”

“Like, for real?” Erik says disbelievingly. “Hank McCoy and Alex Summers.”

“They won’t admit it, but…” Charles trails off.

 

(He ignores the fact that he’s being a hypocrite.)

(So does Erik.)

 

“What an idiot,” Erik says, and Charles grins.

“Which one?” he asks. Erik gives it a considerable two seconds.

“Yes.” And then they’re laughing, and Charles has fallen onto the couch and the heat of Erik’s body against his right arm makes his hair rise on end.

 

(And it’s moments like these where everything seems okay. Nothing else matters.)

(Of course, it’s not okay. They’re all a fucking mess.)

 

“Well, look at that. Just you, me, and an empty room.” Erik’s voice cuts into Charles’ train of thought. “Should we start sending winter coats to hell?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Charles says, settling on the couch. “We’ve been in empty rooms before.” Erik gives him a tight lipped smile, climbing to hover over him. This was not precedented in the slightest.

 _BAD IDEA BAD IDEA BAD IDEA BAD IDEA BAD IDEA_ , runs through Charles’ mind like a banner. He can practically see the red lights flashing.

“ _Before_ was a long time ago,” Erik says, running a hand down Charles’ jeans.

“Two weeks,” he retorts. “Are you drunk?”

“Not enough,” and that stings a little, but he doesn’t let it show. “Who’s counting anyway?” Erik teases, hooking his fingers into Charles’ belt loops, and latching his mouth to his neck.

And before he can stop himself, Charles says it.

“I am.”

 

It’s like the moment is frozen in time; Erik hovering over Charles sporting half a boner and an expression that can’t be erased.

 

Charles desperately wants to rewind and go back to when he was getting a hickey.

 

“Sorry?” Erik asks, and sits up. Charles opens his mouth, though he has no idea what he wants to say, but then the sound of the door creaking open catches both of their attention. Erik scrambles off of Charles and to the other side of the couch as Hank walks into the room. His eyes are red and his fists are clenched around his phone.

 

Charles feels like the world’s most terrible friend for nearly forgetting why they were all there in the first place. The look on Erik’s face says the same.

 

“It was Alex,” Hank mumbles. “He, uh,” he breaks off into almost-derisive laughter. It doesn’t take Charles long to realize that his friend is shaking. Erik is staring at Hank with a concern so open that it hurts to look at. Hank’s disjointed change in behavior is so visceral, it’s sobering.

“Sit down,” Charles says softly, as Erik moves to make room.

“You need more beer,” Erik says, and goes back to the kitchen to get the case. Hank shuffles towards the couch and wordlessly slumps into it. Charles looks at Erik over the couch with his eyes wide. Erik returns and hands Hank a bottle, who holds onto it like it’s a lifeline.

“He told me he wanted more, you know,” Hank whispers, and it feels like an omen. Erik stiffens slightly.

“Charles, start the movie,” he says, a hand on Hank’s shoulder.

 

He does.

 - 

Hank stays immobile on the couch throughout the entirety of _Hercules_ , only singing along half-heartedly. His eyes keep darting to his cell phone, as if waiting for it to vibrate again.

 

Hercules and Megara flirt on screen while Erik downs a bottle in less than a minute.

 

 _I Won’t Say I’m In Love_ begins. Everyone exhales and shifts slightly on the couch. No one dares to make any eye contact.

 

“I’m sorry,” Hank says, halfway through the song, “I can’t do this right now.” He gets up and takes a bottle with him as he walks out the front door. Erik looks at Charles, and then the open door.

“Neither of us drove,” he says. Charles stands up and searches the couch for his phone.

“Wait with him,” he says, “I’ll call an Uber.”

“I’m sorry,” Erik says, after a pause. It sounds like goodbye.

 

Five minutes later, and they’re both gone. Charles stands outside and watches the snow fall over their footprints.

 

He feels a little empty.

 _At least out loud, I won’t say I’m in love_.

-

 

_end._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> it's been literal months since i've written but here i am...trying.


End file.
